photo: ralph murre
The Raven’s Croak
by
Tom Davis
Hunched
down beside a woodpile, ebony,
In
shadows from the cedars overhead,
The
raven blinked black eyes, its dishabille
Of
feathers rustling, stirring up a dread
So
dark it seemed as if it called up from the dead
White
wisps of spirits buried in the snow.
The
raven hopped on top the woodpile, head
Cocked,
moving like a dancer in a show,
A
shadow’s shadow pantomiming woe.
Dawn’s
darkness deepened as the raven leaped
Into
the sky and hovered as the glow
Of
blood-light saturated earth and seeped
Into
the raven’s eyes, its dance undone
Until
its beak croaked out the blazing sun.
~
first published in An Ariel Anthology (Ariel Woods Books)
